


The Rite To Sin

by rumandcocaine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumandcocaine/pseuds/rumandcocaine
Summary: Father Killian Jones is a young priest who helps an anonymous parishioner, Regina Mills, who accidentally killed her son, cope with her actions and the pain of his absence. As Regina visits his confessional each week, they uncover secrets about and layers of each other that leads to an unspoken bond between them. Who are they? Who will they become? What will they do to finally heal?





	1. The Window of Discernment

Saturday, December 3, 2016

The confessional was open. It stayed that way for the thirty minutes Regina spent blankly staring at it from the pews. But she didn't hesitate out of fear. For all intents and purposes she was an atheist without the slightest of doubts about what lies beyond this life. Rather, she hesitated out of confusion as to why she was there in the first place. Regina renounced all ties to the Catholic Church the day she turned eighteen and never looked back. Yet now, at the most vulnerable and broken time of her life, she found herself right back where her story began.

She glanced down at her Rolex to find she only had another thirty minutes before confession times were over. A deep breath would fill her tightened lungs as her mahogany eyes squeezed shut. Regina stood and adjusted her designer skirt and suit jacket then clicked across the dated wood under her feet. Stepping inside the dark box she felt her heart sink into the abyss of her stomach and a cold sweat slicked her forehead. But it was too late now. She was already sat and shut inside waiting for what seemed like an eon before the priest slid open the divider window.

A prolonged silence still hanged in the air. But the priest cleared his throat.

"Are you alright, my child?" He asked softly.

Regina snickered.

"I- I'm sorry, Father. It's just that, well... I haven't been a child in quite a long time."

"That's untrue. You're a child of God and always will be. We all are, no matter how young or old."

"I suppose you're right."

"Suppose? Are you having doubts?"

"Not the kind you're asking about."

The priest paused. Seldom was he lost for words during confessions but seldom did he speak to someone quite like Regina.

"Then let's start with the basics." Father suggested.

"Well," she sighed. "It's been- I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"You can call me Father Killian or Father Jones." 

"Father Jones... it's been a while so excuse me if I mess this up."

"It's alright. Take your time." He spoke softly.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been..." She swallowed thickly. "It's been twenty-one years since my last confession."

"And what are your sins?"

"Father, I'm afraid there are too many to count and certainly too many to remember."

"How about the one that keeps you up at night."

His voice was so gentle it cooed her mind at ease long enough to recall her most grievous sin. But she didn't need much time for such a shameful secret.

"I killed my son," she began. 

The Father's heart flipped.

"I was 23 when the doctor told me I couldn't have children. Of course it meant nothing to me at first. I was in my early 20's, single, just out of college. I wanted to travel, see the world, start my own business, be with as many hot people as possible," she giggled. "Children weren't even on my list of worries let alone the last on it. But by the time I was 30 I had my own law practice and a BIG house... with no one in it but me."

The father's ear was closer to the window than usual. At 29, he was youngest among the priests there and never heard a confession so devastating. Most Saturdays were just teenagers feeling guilty about premarital sex, closeted husbands, cheating wives and petty thieves, but never self proclaimed child killers.

"Some sleepless nights made me realize that I wasn't missing a romantic companion, I was missing the love of a child," her voice cracked before she cleared her throat. "To make a long story short, I adopted the most beautiful baby boy. Eight years I spent with just him. I protected him, loved him, cared for him. I did everything a mother is supposed to do."

"What changed?" Father Jones asked.

"His birth mother. That's what changed. Somehow she got through the closed adoption and tracked he and I down. Three times... three times she tried to take him away from me." Regina sounded both angry and exhausted as she repeated herself. "I fought tooth and nail to keep her away, but my boy couldn't help wanting to be close to her. I got so afraid of losing him... I lost it."

Quivering lips caught her quiet tears. Regina had grown so used to crying this past year that she mastered the art of the muted sob. Father Killian knew she was crying. He couldn't see her, nor did he try to, but the prolonged silence and light sniffling was clue enough.

"One night, I sat outside his birth mother's apartment and waited. First I didn't know why I was there but the moment I saw her car I knew exactly why. I cut her breaks just enough so they'd give out when she needed them most. Maybe it was karma or God but... my son sneaked away from home to go on a trip to the arcade with his birth mother. He left a little note on the fridge from a page in his X-Men notebook. It said 'Be back later, Mom. Going to the arcade with Emma. Please, please, please don't be mad at me. -H'"

Her sobbing was deeper, more painful.

"His last words to me... my last piece of him... is him thinking I was angry with him."

Father Jones squeezed his eyes shut as cries of anguish burst from her lips. Her pain sounded fresh and never spoken. Deep down he knew Regina never told a soul about what she had done until that day. Yet her story and her cries made it all too easy for the Father to be speechless.

"I know... you don't have to say it. I'm a monster, I know." Regina whimpered as she flicked her still pouring tears away.

"You are not a monster." He said blankly.

"Then what am I? Huh?!"

Father Jones scrambled around his brain searching for what words would bring her solace.

"You're human."

"If this is what being human is then living is a curse. A cruel, sadistic curse."

"Humanity is not a curse. We live so that we can learn. There's a reason why the Lord our God didn't want us to be slaves to our egos and desires of the flesh. We must struggle be-"

"Father, I don't need your textbook Priesthood answer. I just... I just... I don't even know why I'm here. I'm an atheist for God's sake. No pun intended." A breathy laugh left her mouth.

"So when I asked you if you had doubts, you lied."

"No. I haven't any doubts at all. I know with certainty that there's no benevolent magic man in the sky who grants wishes to those who believe in him."

"Neither do I. I believe that's a genie you're describing, not God." He gently quipped with a twinge of fear that it was the wrong time for lighthearted sarcasm, but she received it well. Before continuing, he swallowed hard to prepare the utterance of these next few words.

"Your son loved you."

Regina felt her throat tighten again upon hearing those heavy words. She sucked her lips between her teeth as they quivered uncontrollably.

"He still does." Father Jones finished.

"How can you be sure?"

"Children are the purest among us. He sits beside the heavenly father knowing fully where your heart lies. He forgives you and wants you to forgive yourself."

"I'd do anything for my son, but this is unforgivable."

"Not to God."

Regina openly rolled her eyes knowing he couldn't see.

"Somehow I knew you'd say that. So," she sat up and cleared her throat. "What's my penance? Five thousand Hail Mary's? Adopt ten orphans? Donate my savings to save the children? Handwrite the entire old testament?"

"Your penance is to return next Saturday."

Regina was almost disappointed. It had been two decades but she knew how this went. Confess a sin, make up for it in the world. She was expecting something impossible.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, blinking rapidly.

"Your penance is to return next Saturday. Do you understand?"

"I... I guess so."

"May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you; and by His authority I absolve you from every bond of excommunication and interdict, so far as my power allows and your needs require." Eyes closed, he made the sign of the cross. "Thereupon, I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. You may go in peace."

Regina curled her lips almost as if she pitied the naive priest.

'He really believes what he's saying, doesn't he?' She thought.

"Thank you." She spoke.

Regina readied herself to leave the confessional before the Father's voice stopped her.

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"Your son. You didn't tell me his name."

"It's... it's Henry. I named him after my father."

"That's a strong name."

"He was a strong boy." She smiled. 


	2. Find My Voice

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Father Killian absolved a parishioner of their third act of adultery that month. For a moment he questioned the point of confession as whole. Sinners come, voice their sins then are instantly free of the shame and guilt that comes with betraying their loved ones or whatever wrong they did. They walk off scot free and return the next week only to have done exactly what they did the previous. But no matter how he felt, Father Killian deep down, he still gave some reprieve to these poor souls for he knew he was right where he needed to be.

Another parishioner shuffled into the confessional and sat quietly for a few moments. Father Killian stroked his freshly shaved and smooth jawline before his eyes widened in remembrance of last week's quiet parishioner.

"Is that you?" He asked.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that, Father Jones." Regina teased in her low, musical voice.

The corners of his mouth twitched.

"You came back."

"Indeed. It would seem I have."

"May I ask why?"

"Wow. One week and you're already sick of me? Hmm... I guess you do deserve some credit, though. Most men these days don't stick around for more than one night." She snickered.

Father Killian didn't quite know how to respond to such a remark. He wasn't offended. Rather, he was curious what it would be like to fully understand her analogy. A life of abstinence lends itself a life of naivety. For him, to hear such an innuendo was no different than a joke about visiting Mars.

"I guess you could say I'm unlike most men." He spoke more casually yet still rather emotionless in tone and hushed.

"Well most men aren't priests."

"Most men aren't men."

Regina was almost taken aback by his quick witted reply. She didn't expect something so real and relatable yet poignant from a so called man of God.

"Touché."

"You avoided my question."

"What was it again?"

"Why have you returned?"

"Oh right," she began as she shook her head. "If I'm being honest, I don't know."

"I think you do."

Her eyebrows furrowed. On the drive over she asked herself a million times why she was returning and each time she was utterly stumped. With unrelenting certainty, Regina was sure she didn't know... until now.

"I believe I'm here because..." she swallowed. "I'm here because you're the only one who knows what I did. An entire year has past and only you."

"And what is it you are searching for in telling me what you've done?"

"A part of me thinks I have to keep on living so that I can be tortured by this pain for as long as possible. Ending my life would be the easy way out so I have to find a way to keep on going. You could say I came here out of desperation. I came here because I knew that if I kept this secret bottled inside it would kill me."

"How did you feel when you told me you killed Henry?"

Regina felt a stab cut into her heart. She hadn't heard her son's name spoken in some time now and it was the sharpest pain any knife could inflict.

"I felt as if my heartache was not only mine to bear for just a moment. It gave me the slightest bit of peace I needed to go on just one more day."

"You said you deserve to live tortured by the consequences of what you did. Yet you came here desperate for a reprieve from it."

"Is that a question?"

Regina's incessant sarcasm made Father Jones smile at himself. It was a toothless smile but a smile nonetheless.

"It's not." He answered.

"Then what are you getting at?"

"I'm saying... that perhaps you came here not in search of a reprieve but in search of forgiveness."

"That would only make sense if you were Henry."

"And I'm not. Yet you're here wanting to be heard, wanting to be known. There are three reasons people come to confession. One, an easy excuse to feel better about their behavior. Two, out of habit."

"And the third?"

"To be whole again. To find a way to forgive themselves in the same way God already has."

"Why do you believe I'm the latter?"

"Because I know pain."

Regina briefly considered what exactly Father Jones meant by that. Did he know pain because of his experience as a priest or was it something more? She didn't give his other words much thought because that's always been a self evident truth. Regina knew she had to learn to forgive herself and there was only one place she could go to begin to do that.

"Your accent." She noted in a strange voice.

"I'm sorry?" He was confused.

"Your accent. You're not from here, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"It sounds," she paused thinking. "Scottish? Irish?"

"Irish, yes."

"It's very handsome. I'm sure it suits your face as well."

Father Jones felt his cheeks flush and lips curl. Though his ears have heard some of the darkest, most heinous acts, he was still undoubtedly innocent in many ways. Regina's compliment threw him off-guard but he was still such a focused man.

"You're very good at deflecting." He chimed.

"I'm not deflecting it's just my brain is so sleep deprived I tend to digress a little more than the average person." She said this very casually as if it almost meant to be comical.

"How much do you sleep each night?"

"2, maybe 3 hours."

"What finally gets you to drift off?"

"A lot of xanax and a lot of Scotch." Another giggle left her lips.

Father Jones' face had fallen and his eyes turned so soft a tear nearly came to his eye. This was the first time he ever felt deep, genuine sympathy for someone is confession. She wasn't there for a quick fix in her guilt, Regina was in agonizing, soul crushing anguish. The mere fact she was still alive and trudging through life was admirable. Imagining what it was like to wake up in her shoes made him physically cringe and sympathize even harder.

"May I ask you something?" Father Killian confused his own self. He'd never asked a parishioner that.

"I think we're passed the stage of needing permission to ask a question."

"What's your favorite memory of Henry?"

Of all she's confessed in that booth, this would prove to be the hardest to talk about. Remembering Henry as a happy little boy only reminded her of the life she took from him, the bright future he had ahead of him.

"One day, I got a call from the principal of his school. She told me there was an incident during gym class and a boy from a grade above Henry shoved him onto the ground, tore off all his clothes and stuffed them in the locker room toilet. I slammed the phone down and felt a fury inside me like nothing I've ever felt."

"So what happened?"

"I got to the school and stormed in ready to drag someone to the pits of hell. Henry was in the nurse's office wrapped in a fire emergency blanket with a huge smile on his beautiful face. Of course I immediately ask him if he's okay, what happened, who did this and so on. I assured him that I'm going to get the other boy expelled and there would be nothing to fear. But he grabbed my face and said with those angelic eyes 'Mommy, it's okay. Derek didn't mean to hurt me. He's just sad because his parents can't get him things like you do for me. We should take him shopping for new clothes and toys so he won't be sad anymore.'"

They were both smiling, but Regina had tears straming down her face.

"That's when I knew that he had the kindest, most purest heart in the world." She was too choked up to continue any longer. The memory was too much.

"It seems he was extraordinary, a light amongst the darkness."

"He was everything I ever wanted to be." Regina continued. "What have I done... what have I done." She raked her hands through her hair, clawed at her scalp and began to gasp and sob uncontrollably as the memories came crashing back. It was absolutely unbearable. "It just... doesn't seem... real. It can't be real!" She cried.

Father Jones nearly panicked but he stayed calm against the sound of her torment.

"Focus on my voice. Focus on my words and my voice and those only. I know it hurts, but you have to find my voice and come back down. Find my voice. Find my voice. Find my voice."

He would repeat himself and grow quieter each time as he coaxed Regina's breaths to grow deeper and longer. Her hands lowered to her chest and she tried to calm her racing heart.

"Are you alright?" He asked, still softly.

"Define alright." Her panting subsided completely, now she spoke in a tone that was more exhausted than anything.

"Believe me when I say the hardest part is over."

"You're wrong." She whispered.

"How so?"

"The hardest part of life is death."


	3. Four Things

Saturday, December 10, 2016

That night was peculiar for Father Killian. It was typical in his routines, but his thoughts were different. They were clouded with thoughts of Regina, what she was doing, what she was thinking, what she was feeling. As a man of God, it was hard for him not to worry about her. Something inside him felt she was dangerously close to the edge and he was the single thread her fraile fingers clasped to. Regina's life was in his hands and he very well knew it.

The man who stared back at him in the mirror was seemingly unfamiliar. Or, rather, he didn't know who the man was entirely. It was indeed his face, black hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw and all, but the feeling of staring at a stranger filled his gut and made his heart skip a beat. Scary, isn't it? How you can look at yourself and have no idea who that person is.

Father Jones mulled over Regina's compliment. She had no idea what he looked like but still it made him smile, quite differently than how he's smiled the last several years. He examined his face over the flickering candles on his dresser and wondered what part of his face Regina would find handsome or if she'd find it truly handsome at all. The mere thought of the latter being true made him shutter and shake his head away from the mirror.

Kneeling before his bed, Father Killian opened his Bible and skimmed to his favorite scripture. He read aloud before climbing into bed to sleep, “There are three things which are too wonderful for me—no, four things that I know not: how an eagle glides through the sky, how a snake slithers on a rock, how a ship navigates the ocean, how a man loves a woman. —Proverbs 30:18-19"

...

Saturday, December 17, 2016

Confession time was two minutes from being over. Father Jones was feverishly bobbing his knees, checking his watch and stroking his jawline rough enough to cause rug burn. He feared the worst. The way Regina ended the last confession was terrifying at the least and a clear warning sign at the most. But what was he to do? He didn't know her name, what she looked like, where she lived. Even so, priests exist for their trustworthiness and dependability. If he knew any of those things, who would he call? Where would he go? Of course if he knew where she lived he could check on her him-

"Hello?" Father Killian heard shuffling around in the confessional then a familiar silence. "Is it you again?"

"Ya got me." Regina answered.

He sighed in relief and leaned his head back against the wall. The entire week he spent squirming and rattled with nerves in fear of Regina being unable to cope anymore. But she was strong. He knew that.

"It's good to hear you again."

"You know what? Likewise, Father."

"You sound different."

"I do?" She asked.

"You do."

"How so?"

"I can't say for sure. Only different."

"Well, I hope it's a good different."

"I believe it is."

Regina snickered.

"How were you this week?" The Father asked, a little hesitant.

"Quite honestly one of the most emotional weeks of my life. I hadn't cried that much since the day Henry died."

"What was different this time?"

"Last time was a cry of loss. This week was a cry of acceptance."

"What did you accept?"

She was slow to respond and slow in her words.

"I accepted that Henry is gone and that I caused it. I accepted that I'm doing nothing to honor his memory by drowning in prescription drugs and liquor," swinging her hair out of her face as she rolled her eyes. "And..."

"And?" His ear was close enough to touch the window.

"And I accepted that I want to live."

He smiled.

"Have you accepted that you deserve to live?"

"We couldn't just leave it on a high note, huh?" She poked.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine. I know you're just doing what you're supposed to. Ask the hard questions."

Father Jones didn't take well to Regina suggesting this was a job or simply a part of his duty as a priest. He cared for her, not as a parishioner but as a human being, perhaps even as a friend.

"I should remind you that I'm not a therapist."

Regina felt embarrassed and betrayed all of a sudden.

"Have I over shared?"

He sat up.

"Of course not." His voice was more emotional than usual and he was glaring right at the window. He could see bits of her skin and dark hair but nothing distinguishable. "I just want you to understand that I'm not here because you pay me by the hour. Yes, I'm your priest, but I listen because I truly care. I want for you to heal and realize the light that's inside you."

It was difficult for Regina to decipher his tone and she squinted trying to make it out. He sounded defensive in a way but also hurt. It wasn't anger, it was heart.

"You really do believe that." She shook her head.

"Believe what?"

"That there's redemption for me."

"I do. Otherwise, I'd sit in silence, absolve you then send you on your way because I have nothing else to offer the irredeemable."

They were mute.

"And if you're wrong?" She finally asked in a strained, yet quiet voice.

"If I'm wrong then there is no God."

"Those are heavy words coming from a priest." She was still so quiet.

"Then you can understand how sure I am."

Their heads were both pressed against the center wall, unbeknownst to the other. Regina ran her fingers up and down the wood curious as to who this man was and how he made it all so much easier.

"I've noticed something." Regina chimed in on the extended moment of silence.

"What's that?"

"I know nothing about you."

He laughed through his nose.

"How's that fair?" She continued. "I mean I guess I could just Google Killian Jones but that is in such poor taste and slightly obsessive."

"I don't know if it's fair, but it is untrue. You know my name and you know where I'm from."

"None of which are things you chose."

"I can't say you don't have a point... alright, one question."

"One? Oh, you've got to be kidding." Her voice dropped.

"One." He was smiling.

"Nope. That's preposterous. At least three."

"Two."

"Deal."

"So what'll it be?" Father Killian was more than enthused. One could almost say he was having... fun.

"This is the million dollar question."

"Uh-huh, go ahead."

"Why did you become a priest?"

"Not very creative."

"Yet still necessary."

"Well," he cleared his throat. "My parents died when I was 6. My brother was barely a man and we had no other family so being orphans was our our only choice. That was until a priest adopted us both. The interesting thing about it is I don't remember much of my life before then. All my memories are of the church and sweeping up pews."

Regina had a faint smile on her lips.

"They say 'don't become the one who hurt you.' So I became the person who saved me." Father Killian finished.

"Where are they now? Your brother and the man who saved you."

"Is that your second question?"

"That one doesn't count. It's not about you and it's a routine follow up." She pointed a stern finger toward his voice.

"Alright, then. They too passed away. My brother was eleven years older than me so our parents' death was harder on him. He fell into a dangerous life that lead him exactly where you'd expect it to. My father, however, died two years ago an old man warm in his bed. The peaceful death he deserved."

"Your father? The man who adopted you?"

"Yes, of course." He was confused.

"I'm sorry. It's just... before Henry was gone I feared I could never be the mother he wanted. I feared only his birth mother could ever be enough. Your story gave me pause to think otherwise."

"What did he call his birth mother?"

"He called her Emma."

"Then there's your answer. Henry was pure of heart. He gave her a chance because he understands that we are all imperfect people trying to survive in a cruel world. And even with her mistake, he ended up with a mother who was a superhero in his eyes."

Regina didn't quite know what to feel. An powerful wave bleakness washed over her heart for what should've been the most hope-inspiring words her ears have heard the past year. Still, misery prevailed, as did deflection.

"I still have my second question." Regina hushed.

"Ask away."

"What do you look like?"

Seldom did Father Killian pray for a random act of God like a meteor or bolt of lightning to take him out, but now was one of those times.

"Do you need a mirror to remember?" Regina laughed.

"No, yes... no, I'm fine." He sat up as he combed his hair with his fingers and adjusted his rosary.

"Okay, don't hurt yourself."

He cleared his throat and cut his eyes toward the window. She was as sarcastic as she was strong and he knew it.

"Well... I have black hair... blue eyes... about 6 foot... slim build... I uh... that's about it."

"That wasn't so bad, was it? Your answer was unequivocally male, but now I have a somewhat clearer mental image of you."

"The privilege is yours."

"I'm sorry?" She scoffed.

"You heard me." He drawled, a smile on his face.

"Well I certainly didn't take you to be the arrogant type."

"You misunderstood."

"Oh, have I?"

"Yes. The privilege is yours because I never answer anything about myself."

She gasped.

"I'm a very lucky girl it seems." She interlocked her fingers into a fist and turned toward the window as if to beg. "Oh, Father, please bestow even more of your mercy and blessings upon me. I'm not worthy!"

"Alright, alright. You've made your point." His cheeks were like roses.

Together they laughed with their chins to their chests for a couple of minutes until the silence was revived. A smile on his face, Father Killian plucked at some dead skin around his thumb. A smile her face, Regina thumbed circles on her palm.

"I think it's my turn for a question." Father Killian chimed in.

"Hmm. Just one."

"What's your name?"

"It's Regina. Regina Mills."

"It suits you."

"And how on Earth would you know that?"

"It's astute and serious, yet graceful and charming all the same."

"You're not too far off."

"Nope. I'm exactly right."


	4. Twas The Night...

Saturday, December 24, 2016

"It's the most wonderful time of the year. Your father always loved Christmas." Bishop Gold nudged Father Killian as they sat in the front pew admiring the candlelit altar. It was heavily decorated in red, green and gold candles in lieu of their most important mass of the holy calendar. The larger than life crucifix glimmered behind the candles and watched over the church with a statuesque.

"He did." Father Killian, a quiet man, never needed many words to convey what he truly felt. He communicated through his tone and piercing eyes.

"Stubborn old man. You know, he once refused to come inside during the blizzard of '89. The poor bastard nearly lost a foot to frost bite."

"Why did he do that?"

"Guilt. He believed that so long as there were people without homes or a warm bed on Christmas, no holy man should treat himself to such luxuries." Bishop Gold shook his head at the crucifix.

A sad smile curled up on Father Killian's face.

"Stupid if you ask me. He saved no one by sitting there like a witless duck." The Bishop continued as he stood, blunt and careless in tone. "You have a good Christmas Eve. Do some shopping. Maybe even have a drink or two." He winked then tapped along with his cane, disappearing somewhere out of sight.

Father Killian would sit upon that wooden pew for the next hour contemplating the need and existence of suffering. It was no less a fact of life than death. The sun rises, the earth turns, the skies cry and the trees grow. Those are certainties we've gotten so accustomed to, seldom do we question their inevitability. As is with pain.

"Maybe Father had the right idea," he thought. "When we share our strife, how can it win?"

Snow was piling so thick along the stain glass, the flickering candles' reflection began to gleam in the corner of his eye. He imagined himself getting stuck inside for the duration of the night, Maybe even days, weeks. The thought of being alone indefinitely put a grin on his face that faded fastly. It was a lie, or at least a brief moment of forgetfulness. After all he wasn't used to not wanting to be alone nor was he familiar with such a peculiar feeling. But there was only one person he'd rather be alone with.

A gust of frigid wind plastered the back of Father Killian's head and nearly evaporated the tiny flames before him. The massive church doors slammed closed in a great creaky boom and the dancing candles returned to a subtle flicker. 

Then there it was... the silence. That silence... it couldn't be. Ears keen, Father Killian heard two clicks of the heels. His eyes turned to pinholes and his heart went numb. His mouth was suddenly dry as the skin on his fingertips and forehead grew clammy. The air was thick as molasses and his lungs struggled to breathe.

Desperate for strength or a miracle from up above, he dug his feet into the wood beneath him and willed himself to stand. Shallow was his breath, steady were his aching knees as he stepped into the isle still facing the altar.

"Hail Mary, full of grace," Father Killian whispered, eyes closed and chin to chest. "Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

A few more deep breaths would mark the end of his futile delay. He turned on his heels, opened his eyes... and there she was... a woman who didn't look a day over 35 with luxurious brown hair, deep, chocolatey eyes, a knee-length trench coat and designer scarf. Her black winter boots and skinny pants were dusted with snow, as were the tips of her brown locks. And there started their stand off. They knew who the other was but weren't ready for it to be real just yet. But it was inevitable.

"Is it you?" Father Killian asked, voice quivering.

"I believe it is." Regina was hushed. Her eyes softened as she remembered Father Killian's brief description of himself. "Black hair... blue eyes... slim build," she nervously repeated. "You've understated yourself, Father Killian."

"I try not to exaggerate." He smiled.

She returned it.

The quiet filled the sanctuary once more. They gazed upon each other despite the mile between them.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"Of course you weren't."

"Good."

"Though, if I may ask, where brings you here?"

"Uh," Regina cleared her throat. "I was at the hospital nearby when I realized today was Saturday. I was planning to stop by but I... I got a little busy."

"The hospital? Are you alright?" Father Killian moved forward.

"Yes. I'm quite alright. It uh... it was the children's hospital."

"You were visiting."

"I was." She glanced down at her leather gloves and pinched at the tips.

"I'm sure you made their Christmas Eve."

"Yeah. Anyways. I should let you get back to your night. I'm sorry if I bothered you." She turned to open the door.

"No Regina, please!" He held his hand out as if to grab her arm but she was too far away. A lick of the lips and a shake of the head later he finished, "You don't have to go. I don't want you to go."

Over her shoulder her eyes found his shadow still baby stepping toward her. She turned and faced him once again.

"Sometimes I think I'm ready to move on but I'm not. Not even close."

"You don't have to move on, Regina. We can still work through this together."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then tell me. Please." The sadness he saw on her face was eerily similar to how he imagined it. Except now he had to fight the incredible urge to curl her hair behind her ear.

"You will understand. Soon. I promise. But that's not why I'm here."

"Then what is it?"

"I came here to see you."

He swallowed.

"It only seemed right." She continued. "I've told you all there is to know and yet I never met you properly. There seemed like no better day than our day and on Christmas Eve."

"Our day." He twinkled.

"Saturday."

"I know."

"Well... It was a pleasure to meet you, Father Killian."

"The pleasure is mine." He raised his hand to beckon a handshake.

Regina locked her eyes on his trembling hands. Seeing him for the first time proved to be difficult enough, but to hold his hand, to feel his warmth, she feared the unthinkable would happen to her shattered heart. She pinched the tips of her gloves and removed her slender hand from its warmth. Then step by step, click by click, she made her way to his still waiting limb. 

Finally close enough to breathe the same air, they found the other's eyes they so long yearned for. Regina thought to herself how unbelievably devastating his blue irises were, yet how kind and comforting his face was. Father Killian shuttered at her overall beauty. He found it to be intimidating, yet deeply mesmerizing.

Without breaking their gaze they pressed the tips their fingers together then slowly fit their hands tightly inside the other's. They gripped each other softly but firmly, desperately clinging to safety.

"Thank you." He breathed.

"I should be thanking you."

"No. You gave me something I thought I'd never have."

"And what's that... Father Killian."

"Hope."

She shook her head, still hypnotized by his icy blues.

"I don't believe you."

"Why?" He pulled her hand closer and a dejected look fell on his face.

"Because I'm no good, Killian. I'll only ruin you."

"That's not true," he was louder now. "You are good. You are good. And I will not stop until you know that to be true."

"Then you're going to need forever."

"Then forever it is."

"You're so stubborn, you know that?"

"Says you." He smiled.

"Hmm. I'll give you a pass on that one."

"I'm grateful."

Reality had set in. Their hands uncoiled and returned to their sides. Regina analyzed his face one last time before turning to walk away. As she touched the heavy door she was stopped by his tender voice.

"Regina."

"Yes?"

"You called me Killian."

"I'm sorry, Father, I-"

"I haven't been called Killian in seven years. I almost forgot what it felt like to just be me. Thank you."

She wasn't sure why but a tear welled in her eyes and blurred her vision. Luckily she still faced away from him and could hide the sudden emotions.

"Merry Christmas, Killian." She pushed open the door and another gust of wind broke through then quickly dissipated as the door slammed behind her.

"Merry Christmas, Regina."


	5. Truth Be Told

Saturday, December 24, 2016

"No... no, she wouldn't. No..." Killian muttered to himself after a minute of thoughtless staring at the church doors Regina closed. "You can't." He realized something terrifying and immediately burst out of the church doors.

"Wait! Regina, wait!" He shouted as he trudged through the ankle-high snow.

Regina walked two blocks before he caught sight of her. She heard his shrill, panicked voice through the thick blankets of powder, yet she continued to march on.

"Regina, stop!"

She didn't.

"Regina! You can't do this! I won't let you!" Droves of angry snow swallowed up Killian's voice and the freezing air squeezed at his airways. It was nearly impossible to scream out yet still he used all his might to bellow into the blizzard.

He trudged and he trudged and he trudged. With his hand shielding his eyes as if the sun was out, still the beige on her trench coach began to fade.

"COME BACK! PLEASE!" His tears couldn't stand a chance against the fierce wind. It crashed at his face like rapid fire cannon balls.

"HOW CAN YOU SAY YOU EVER LOVED HIM WHEN ALL YOU DO IS RUN?!"

The beige speck was suddenly at a stand still. Killian stopped in his tracks to both catch his breath and grapple with the reality that he may have gone too far. But he couldn't let her go. He couldn't let her turn away from this, from him. The buttons on Regina's coat were now visible as she came storming back to unleash a scorned mother's fury.

"Who the hell are you to give me ultimatums on how to prove my love for my own son?!" She roared through the snow that ironically calmed down after hearing her rage.

Killian didn't dare to shout back nor did he want to. Seeing Regina angry only made him regret pushing on such a tender wound. Nevermind the fact that she was so close to him again and it made Killian feel an overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

"That wasn't my intention, Regina, I swear." He breathed, an apologetic, glassy look in his eyes.

"Then what do call what you just did?! You know everything, EVERYTHING, and you question the one certainty I've ever known in this life. My heart beats for Henry."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"You don't." She shook her head in sheer disgust.

"I couldn't let you go, Regina. I had to find a way to stop you and that's the only way I could." He licked his cold, chapped lips.

"By trying to completely shatter my already broken heart?" She purposed a wry smile on her lips. "I can't believe I almost let you in."

"Don't." He grabbed her shoulders. "You've already let me in and there's no denying it. You let me in enough for me to know that you wouldn't have shown your face to me had it not been a goodbye. You let me in enough to know that to stop you, I'd have to call into question the one thing I never doubted. Not even for a second."

His grip loosened but his intense gaze remained fixed on Regina.

"But why? Why stop me?"

"Because..." Gold and red Christmas lights blinked behind Regina's hair. The city was always drenched in holiday spirit and decorations.

"Why."

"Because I forgot what it was like to... to like someone... to want to be near someone, to want to talk to someone for hours, to want to know someone, to want to hold someone. I don't even know if I've ever felt this before."

With his hands were now lazily wrapped around her elbows yet still clinging in a way, Regina looked upon his black and white collar and the bits of snow collecting on his shoulders and was only speechless. What was she to think? All this man knows of her is her greatest sin. A sin so grievous she rendered herself unlovable and ugly at her core. This man was pure. Does he see the truth or a naive illusion?

"I don't know what to say."

"Just say this won't be the last time I see you."

"I can't say that. You've seen me. I can hardly speak to you knowing you have a face to the horrible things I've done."

"Oh, Regina... I saw you long before this day. And I saw light and beauty."

Regina almost felt guilty for allowing herself to feel comforted by his words yet again. While she didn't see herself the way he saw her, she found solace in knowing someone she believed to be so beautiful could see the same in her.

"Then there's something you must know." She hushed with tears in her eyes.

"Tell me. Whatever it is you can tell me." Killian stepped in closer and tightened his grip around her elbows again. She placed her hands above his waist.

"Henry." Regina began then bit her bottom lip.

"What is it?"

"Henry isn't dead."

Killian squinted before blinking rapidly a few times.

"I... I don't understand. You said-"

"I know what I said."

"I'm lost, Regina. Why would you tell me you killed him... Why would you tell me those things?" He completely let go of her and stepped back.

"Because he may as well be dead."

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

"Killian, please, just listen to me!"

There was a fire in his eyes.

"Please."

"Tell me." His closed mouth almost looked like it was snarling.

"Everything I told you was true. I did cut those breaks. I did try to make her go away and I didn't know Henry would be with her. The only part that wasn't true is that Henry didn't die."

"Then why? Why did you say he did? Where is he?"

"He's in a coma, at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. He's been there for the last year and a half. That's where I was before I came here tonight. The doctors say there's absolutely no hope for him to wake up and that... and that he's already gone. Earlier, I told you that I'm not ready to move on. That's what I meant. I'm not ready to pull the plug on my own son so rather just leave the city and pray that one day I'll get a call that he's awake."

"He... he's alive." Killian was near shock.

"Barely. But, yes. He is."

Silence overtook them once more. But their silences were comfortable, familiar.

"Say something." Regina pleaded.

"I was right."

"Right about what?"

"You. I was right about you."

Regina's eyebrows furrowed.

"There really is a light inside you."


End file.
